The spectacular
by make-mine-a-kiaora
Summary: A filler for between s4 ep7 and s4 ep8. The aftermath of Tom transforming in the club. Ch1-3 are written from Alex's POV. The remaining chapters cover the same story from Hal or Cutler's PoV. Can be read as 1 or 2 stories. T - language. Please review.
1. Chapter 1

**The** **Spectacular**

_Disclaimer: This is not for profit fanfiction, shared with fellow addicts of BH. It's fun here in the sandpit._

_Thanks to Toby Whithouse, the BBC and the cast and creative team for 4 brilliant years. All rights remain with them. This is my first attempt at fanfic so please let me know what you think – and any comments on what worked or what could be better. Thank you to "anon", Saint and fullhearts for the kind reviews and tp everyone who added this to their favourite stories._

_This is a filler – for between the end of s4 ep7 and ep8. The first three chapters are written from Alex's point-of-view. The remaining chapters cover the same story but from Hal's POV or Cutler's. The story can be read as a single entity or as 2 standalone stories._

**Just when I thought...**

What. A. Day.

In 24 hours – oh, sorry ... make that 25 and a half – I meet a guy for a date in a posh bar – who turns up late, drunk and creepy – get kidnapped by his "friends", tortured by Cutler and his bloody egomania – who turns out to be a VAMPIRE no less - have my neck and throat torn out, my blood and life drained, and learn of the existence of ghosts. .. By BECOMING one!

Fu-cking hell... No wonder it seems like forever...

If you haven't already guessed, I'm furious. Angry. Raging. Livid. Irate.

And... as if that wasn't enough... it doesn't end there. Oh no. No... Not only does my "date", Hal - another vampire would you believe – come back to haunt me, in all his foul tempered and sarcastic glory, but ...now...he ...tells ...me...

Just when I knew that I couldn't be shocked any more, he informs me that werewolves are real... And...not only that... but Tom, the sweet guy from the caff, and the museum, is one... and that he's about to re-enact the Chainsaw Massacre – in a packed club – with his teeth and claws. I know Cutler had said, but I thought he was just mental. Delusional. I didn't believe him! And I certainly didn't think of Tom.

I'm trying desperately to clear my head. I came here for a holiday...with my Dad and brothers – and... And now I'm dead. And it's the same world but a whole new universe. How did it turn into this?

Dragging me to the edge of the dance floor, Hal abandons me. Pushing his way through the crowd, he grabs the microphone, and starts to try to REASON with people – not quite his best Forrest Gump but not far off! Does the man have no idea? He can't think that's going to work, surely? Politely entreating a room full of pissed-up partygoers to please make their way to the exits? Duh...

I hit the fire alarm, relieved to see the glass break beneath my fist, but nothing. Bloody Cutler. He meant every word. It's been disabled. As I turn back to the heaving mass of humanity on the dance floor, a couple push past me – wait, no... Through me... ! Yuck!... Heading for a quiet corner. O...K... So not just dead then. Invisible and walk-through too. Great! That's just great...

But...

It all starts to kick loose...

A low growl reverberates around the room, shivering my spine, raising the hairs on my arms and neck. Awareness. Of the big bad things in the dark. That gobble you up. They are the predators, you are the prey. And don't you know it?

The revellers feel it too, I can see. Silence blankets them and, as they turn to stare, I watch with them. A 7 foot creature - part wolf, part something, on its hind legs. Shaggy. Its claws are offensive weapons. And those teeth! They make a vampire look cuddly. I shudder as the dull ache in my neck flares again into the searing pain of Cutler's teeth... Swallowing it down, I focus. Yep. Werewolves are real, all right. Werewolves, vampires and ghosts. What a bastard!

Humans, bloody humans... Can you believe it? They're taking photos! Run for your life? Big scary monster? Oh, no. Maybe evolution does work after all. Well...err...OK...maybe I'm not in the best position to judge that right now but... I mean...even I'm not that... stupid.

As the beast takes a step forward, claws ripping into the floorboards, I hear Hal's desperate yell. "RUUUUUUUN".

Finally! Shrieks, screams and a stampede for the doors. And... apparently... they're locked. Another present from bloody Cutler, no doubt. But, hey, I have a whole new skills set. Walking through walls, opening doors. No problem. Not when you can rent-a-ghost. Who says that a disembodied spirit is useless?

Releasing them, I hold back one of the double doors as the humans surge past me. No thanks then. Now, that would be just silly. One or two of them stop by the police van, parked by the kerb. Looking for someone to complain to, no doubt. But it's empty. And unlocked... Strange.

Turning back into the club, the door slamming behind me, I see Hal is trying to face down the snarling wolf. It looks like he's distracting it from noticing that all the idiots are leaving. Buying them time. I hope they're worth it. He looks terrified.

I stare, appalled, as Hal slips out from behind the sound equipment, glancing up at the balcony. Why? What's up there? Edging his way round, never breaking eye contact with the wolf, he eases himself towards the stairs. Nothing to protect him. Nothing to hide behind. I close my eyes, panic and bile rising through my stomach, the back of my mouth. He'll be ripped to pieces. I mean... he may be an arrogant little shit that drank my blood...but... he has tried. Really tried. Not this. No, please, please, not this.

I hear a thud and the snarling turns into a roar. My eyes snap open in time to see Hal wedged into a small gap under the stairs, arms raised above his face to protect himself from the beast. It leaps. I scream. But. But, he's OK. The monster barrels past him, clearing the stairs in two bounds. It's off round the balcony.

Sucking in a deep breath, I exhale slowly. Mmm, looks like my lungs still work, even if I don't need them. I rent-a-ghost to Hal and pull him up, throwing my arms around his neck. And what does he do? He grizzles, and snaps, pushing me away,

"Alex, what the hell are you doing. Stupid woman".

I just grin at him, as surprised as he is by my sudden display of affection. He's still shaking. The desperate shaking of those in mortal peril. And I feel for him. I know that place.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer. All rights belong to Toby Whithouse and the BBC. I'm just playing in the sandpit.**

**Caging the beast**

Hal straightens up, rubbing his hands down his face several times as the trembling slowly eases. He inhales deeply, then holds his hands out, tapping each of his fingers in turn on his thumbs, whilst he gets it back together. After a few moments, he turns to me.

"Alex, I'm sorry, that was rude. Most ungentlemanly of me. Again. "

He looks around, checking that no humans remain, and then smiles back at me. A warm, shy smile. So sweet. But he's not pulling that one on me again. Not after drinking my blood. A girl has to have some standards. Even if my dead heart does still flutter.

"That was quick thinking. It's bought us some time."

"Time?" I ask. What now, I wonder?

"We've got to get out of here."

I start to laugh, maybe with a touch of hysteria - he was dead right about that.

"And get Tom out."

"WHAT?" As I realise that I'm gawping, I shut my mouth and glare at him. "You mean that...thing?" I pause, trying hard not to believe the next bit but no longer certain. "You still think that that...monster...is your housemate? The lad from the caff?"

"Alex." He's taken hold of my hands, gazing at me with his hazel eyes. God this must be serious. "I don't think that it's Tom. I know it is. He's a werewolf. Human for 27 days out of 28, but far from it on full moon. After the transformation, there's none of the human left. No recognition, no compassion, no sense of who he is. Until dawn, when he'll change back, he will kill without hesitation. Then he'll be back to normal for another 4 weeks. Oh, and as I'm sure you've worked out by now, I'm a vampire - like Cutler - though I try hard not to be. Now I know that it's a lot to process. It will take time. But trust me. Please trust me."

I pull back, snatching my hands from his grip, but the concern in his eyes just gets deeper.

"You're doing so well. Unbelievably so, given that your world view has just been shattered. And you held it together wonderfully, getting the humans out. But we have to catch Tom and get him out of here before the police come looking. What do you think will happen then?"

I close my eyes, blocking him out. What will happen? A bloodbath. That's what. So strange to think of humans as something other. As not being one anymore.

"So," I say eventually, trying to get things straight, "there'll be carnage. A lot more people dead."

Hal nods. "And if they let him escape into Barry, what then?"

I was getting the picture... and wishing that I didn't.

"And", he continues, "it's not just about the humans. Tom is my friend. He keeps me sane and stable and I owe him. You've met him. He's an innocent. A puppy. He has never killed either a human or a werewolf, and it would destroy him. I, on the other hand, have - more than once - and I know what it does you. How it twists and stains you. I would do anything to spare him finding out what that feels like."

I'm weakening. I can see how the monster could get loose if a load of Barry police bashed in the doors, not expecting to find something from their wildest nightmares. Still, I had some more questions.

"He can see me?"

"Yes, all supernaturals can – werewolves, ghosts and vampires – but not hurt you – not physically. You're safe now. Well, reasonably safe. No lasting harm."

I feel so reassured. And then he continues...

"Though there's one thing I should warn you about. Werewolves, especially transformed ones, hate vampires. It's in their DNA. Tom accepts me, when he's himself, because he's a generous and caring person who saw me at my most vulnerable and because, until my wobble of the last 2 days, I've been on the wagon for decades. And it's many, many years since I killed. That's why he leapt past me. Not because he didn't think I'd be good to eat, or because he recognised me, but because Cutler would taste better. "

I shudder. "Do you think he found him?"

Hal shrugs. "I don't know. I doubt it. Cutler always did know when to run. It was a talent of his. One of the few." He pauses. "My guess... Cutler's long gone and Tom's busy with some false trail he's left."

My thoughts return to the police van outside and I cringe, imagining them already at the door, about to be trampled by a rampaging werewolf. I decide to fill Hal in about the van, stopping as I see the animation returning to his face.

"A police van, unlocked, empty, you say?"

I nod.

"Alex, would you ... please ... do your rent-a-ghost thing and check it out? Specifically if it's still abandoned and, assuming so, if the keys are under the clutch pedal. And also the security of the back of it? Cutler was always one for the backup plan."

Sure enough, the van is still there, empty, unlocked and with the keys under the clutch pedal. I open up the back and it's like it's been built to hold a family of sabre tooth tigers. Or... one werewolf. How did he know? I go in, leaving the doors open, and test out each one of the restraints and the locking mechanisms on the cell gate and the back doors. Definitely secure. Though a bit lacking on the decor front otherwise. And absolutely no mod cons.

Satisfied, I close my eyes and wish myself back inside the club. This is so cool. This rent-a-ghost thing.

Returning to Hal, I see he's been busy. A bundle of clothes are at his feet, along with a pint glass containing a white, perfectly pressed, monogrammed cloth hanky, and two bottles of brandy. Now is so not the time! Oh, and four fire extinguishers that he's lined up by the doors. Nice to see the Cutler didn't totally ignore the fire regulations. Hal beams at me, and I start to worry.

"Ah, Alex. Erm. Good. Good. Ah, the keys. "

I pass them to him.

"Secure? Mmm. Thought so."

He's off muttering to himself. Not... Helping... Then suddenly Hal snaps his head up, all commanding officer,

"Alex. Reverse the van to near the doors and, when I give the signal, back it in so the cab is just inside. Get on to it. We haven't got all day". He throws the keys back at me.

"Yes, sir! " Somehow I neglect to tell him that I can't really drive – but then I come clean. He stares in disbelief.

"Right. Right then. Man the door. Tell me immediately if you see Tom. Immediately. When I rap on the doors, open them and get out of the way."

He storms off, before realising that he needs me to open the door again to let him out. What an idiot.

And it works like a well run merchant ship. Hal reverses to the doors. I open them and prop them with the extinguishers, whilst keeping an eye out for trouble, and letting him back past into the club. The van fits well in the door opening, with the cab jutting against the inside of the now closed doors, and we grab chairs and tables and pile them down the sides and on the roof, blocking any bypass route, after hurling Tom's clothes into the passenger seat. Hal goes through the security with me and how to lock the van doors once more, and he puts the keys in the two mechanisms. Now for fun.

"Alex." Hal turns to me suddenly sombre. "Thank you... for everything. I do...ahem...have one more...favour ... to ask of you."

"Sure, sugar."

"What we are doing is dangerous. Very dangerous. If things go badly, please just get yourself out and try to stop the humans from getting in. Don't watch. It will be gory. Don't try to intervene. There will be no point. Tom will return to normal by around 6am, through he'll be dopey and tired, but you should be able to rouse him about half an hour after he appears fully human. NOT before. Explain what happened, that it's not his fault and that I don't blame him in any way. Once you've done that, get Annie, if she's back now. She's our third housemate, and she's a ghost. This is the address."

He passes me a small scrap of torn off beer mat with an address and phone number. Like calligraphy. I clench it in my fist, blinking back the tears, and nod. We can both hear the distant sirens. Time is running out.

He flashes me his best fake smile. "Let's do it."

I take up station behind one of the van doors and watch as Hal walks forward, grabs the first bottle of brandy and splashes it around the open doors. The second, he takes and pulls two swigs from the top of the bottle before extending his fangs – shit he really is a vampire – wiping his canines clean with the hanky and then using one of them to open up his wrist. He collects the blood in the pint glass and hurls it in the back of the van, wrist pressed back to his mouth, sucking his own blood. He hasn't got a drop on him. The OCD side of him would be proud. With the other hand, he pours the remaining brandy in a circle around him, dropping the bottle in horror, as, still snarling, the wolf appears from the other side of the bar. Hal backs away for a couple of steps before throwing himself to the floor and sliding into the smallest gap that we'd left under the van, the wolf clawing at his shoes. He comes up in front of me, still sucking his wound, jamming the gap with the chair we'd left. We're encased by wreckage and furniture with barely enough room to stand, pressed up together, because he had told me to wait in the cab, but no way, even if he hates it. We both hold our breath.

The wolf howls and I turn to ice. We can hear him snuffling. He bashes into the door, but it holds firm, braced with a metal pole. Time stops. He's so near. I can feel him, like an aura, or something. Pure brutality and evil. I'm sure he can smell us. That he'll dig us out. My palms are soaked with sweat, though it doesn't seem to stick to anything but me now. Not my clothes. Not the van side.

At last, he takes the bait. Steps into the van, heading for the vampire blood, then drops to all fours, if the thuds are anything to go by. Hal takes a deep breath, silently unbracing the door, and, faster than any human, slams the metal gate across, locking it as Tom turns, fangs and gloop and claws and hurls himself at Hal. I rent-a-ghost to the side, slamming the outer doors, first the left, startling the wolf back and buying Hal a last millisecond to finish turning the key, and then, as Hal retreats, I get the right one, leaving him to secure them. We've done it. At least, if the cage holds, that is.

The wolf seems to sense the indecision. Hurling himself at the sides, he makes the van wobble violently. He howls and growls and snarls. And Hal and I look at each other. No triumph. Just relief. The sirens are louder now. Coming down the street type loud. We have to get out.

I leave Hal clearing a path to the cab and rent-a-ghost out, watching as 2 police cars and a van scream to a halt round the corner. They've gone for the main entrance. Thank God. I wrench the doors open, and Hal eases out, so as not to run me over, as the doors scrape the front of the vehicle. In the back, Tom is going berserk and the whole van is rocking. The noise! It should wake people in John O-Groats. Hal pauses, strapping himself in, as I hop into the passenger's seat. At least, if we crash, it won't kill me. And probably not him either. He floors the engine, battling with the steering wheel, and we head out of town, to open ground away from people and from questions. We make it without being followed. I have no idea how.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer. BH belongs to the BBC and Toby Whithouse.**

**Sunrise**

After a few minutes on the road, the wolf – Tom – decides to settle and all goes quiet. Hal thumbs on the CCTV monitor and checks on him. The wolf is curled up, his nose touching his tail, in the back corner, snout still covered in blood just beyond tongue's reach. Hal's blood. I glance at Hal's arm, looking for the cut on his wrist, and am surprised to see that it's almost gone.

He notices. "We heal quickly." I just feel bemused.

He continues to drive, flicking glances at the monitor, and I'm struck by how protective he is. How much he cares for the people that he loves. At least the noise and the shaking have stopped now. Just as well on single track roads with a lot of helpful bounce factor. We would have flipped over. I lean back in the passenger seat and close my eyes, thinking how welcome some sleep would be.

After another 20 minutes or so, just gone midnight, we pull over onto an unmade road and Hal eases the van along without lights and ignoring the protest from bashed panels and wheel springs. It looks like supernaturals have good night vision. He seems to know what he's doing, and I can see as clear as day, even with the moon covered by cloud. Completely off track now, he draws up to a deserted hillside spot with a good view over Barry, and shelter in the form of a nearby thicket. He kills the engine, yawns and stretches before jumping out and going to check on the trees. A call of nature, I guess. In the back, the wolf still sleeps, nose twitching and paws scrabbling like my Gran's terrier used to do. Dreaming of chasing rabbits, she said. I try not to think of what a werewolf would dream of.

Hal returns, pulls a sheet out of one of the hidden compartments in the front of the van, lays it on the ground just beyond my line of sight and shrugs off his jacket?

"Yoga. Care to join me?"

I splutter and relax back into my chair. Time to sleep.

An hour later, all hope of sleep abandoned, I give up as Hal gets back into the van. He looks at me kindly.

"Did it work? Getting some sleep?"

He takes my exasperation for the answer.

"It's not that you can't sleep anymore, Alex. It's just that you'll need very little. A couple of hours a week maybe, maybe less."

I stare mindlessly ahead. Wishing for oblivion to overtake the boredom. Hal watches me for a few moments before chiming up,

"So, any questions? Anything you want to know about being a ghost, or other supernaturals, or even the best places to visit in Europe? Historically, anyway."

I shrug, feeling worn. All I can think about is my Dad and my brothers. They don't even know. And can they even see me? Talk to me? My fury has drained. The cold, hard reality of death is stealing through my bones. I'm scared, so lonely, confused. And I can't face small talk. Not even with him. I turn away. I don't even care if I am being rude.

After a while, Hal lopes off again, and I watch him go. Not far, I'm sure. He's on watch, I don't doubt.

Shortly after 6, as the smudge of dawn grows, taking over the sky, Hal returns. He flips another look at the monitor and smiles, grabbing Tom's clothes. He goes towards the back and opens the doors, but I can't see him on the screen. Just the gathering daylight through the back and a neat stack of Tom's clothes, which appear out of thin air. Curiouser and curiouser... I leave the safety of my seat, determined to investigate, and watch as Hal takes off his jacket, laying it over the naked sleeping werewolf. He steps out of the van in fine fettle, after leaving the back doors ajar.

"Let's give him another hour or so."

I cut across him, "You're invisible! On the camera thing. Like... how... And, oh my God, is that me? If I carry something, it'll just float in mid-air?"

"Calm down! The camera is a vampire thing. And...as I was saying... another hour and then we can get moving. It'll be a 4 mile walk or so.

He pauses, "Oh, and I don't know how much he'll remember. Especially not after the brandy on his paws. He can't take spirits in human form, let alone wolf. He may well have a sore head. "

As we wait, he starts to explain all about werewolves, how they re-write their biology and how the curse spreads. And how strong spirits can mask the scent of a vampire, but nothing tops vampire blood. It's like human blood to a vampire, but even more smelly, so that a wolf will scent it miles away, and race to the scene. Some of it's macabre, but it's fascinating. And he knows so much. Not a question that he can't answer or anything that he won't explain. I begin to look at Tom with new eyes. Not as the chatty, friendly lad or as the monster, but something in between, as another one dragged into this strange world outside a world, but who gets on with life regardless.

Finally, I had to know.

"Hal, you know when we went to the museum? "

"Mmm".

"You didn't mention what you were – though you were definitely strange. Did Allison know about Tom? About this?" I gesture to the back of the van.

Hal pulls a face and looks at me, appraisingly.

"You should understand that werewolves and vampires are rare. Humans can't recognise either species – which is just as well - but we can all recognise other supernaturals. You'll be able to now. So, yes, Allison did know about Tom, just as she knew about me, because she's also a werewolf."

That takes the biscuit. I'm flabbergasted. Speechless.

Hal takes one look at me, and breaks into a maddening smirk.

"Finally," he says, "finally, she's run out of things to say."

We hear Tom as he clambers down the back steps and comes to Hal's window, looking sheepish. Hal joins him outside, pulling back on his coat and leaning on the bonnet. The damage doesn't look too bad in daylight. I leave them to it for a while, as they talk in low voices, both gazing over the town below. Then Tom ambles off to the trees, to clean himself up. In the end, I figure that there's nowhere else for me to go, so I make my way to the front and talk to Hal until Tom returns. Tom's full of apologies and horror about what he might have done. And as mad at Cutler as I am. I look at him, shake myself, and can't take it in, though I'm still pretty uncomfortable and I head back to the van for a while. The last thing I hear is him complaining,

"I ain't never felt frightening before. I'm normally dead stealthy with me transformations."

Well, I've learned the most important thing. I have "unfinished business", apparently. Which I need to resolve to "cross over"... Whatever that means. Bloody Cutler. He is so going to pay for this.

Little do I know then that, over the next hour or so, as we walk back into Barry, I'm going to get an impromptu lesson in vampires in the police force (killed off in Barry apparently), dog fights, undercover operatives at the DVLA and the traditional ways to stock vampire getaway vehicles. They are SUCH creatures of habit. And Tom is even worse than me at having to know how and why, and, hey, sometimes you've just got to ask...

It's so strange out here, in this parallel universe. But this is my life now. And these are the people who have let me in. In some weird way, I belong here.


	4. Chapter 4

**In chapter 1-3, the events in and after the club are seen from Alex's POV. In the remainder of the story, the same events are covered but from either Hal or Cutler's viewpoints.**

**Disclaimer: Just raiding the dressing up box and pretending **_**not**_** to be human! All rights remain with Toby Whithouse and the BBC.**

**Inside the club: Hal**

We could only have moments. It had to be so close now, full moon. I didn't have it down to the minute but I'd be surprised if Tom wasn't already bent double, screeching with the onset of the transformation. I just couldn't hear it above the rabble of humans – young humans at that – and the infernal racket that they consider to be music. And Cutler – bloody Cutler – he has to be here too. So proud of his moment of glory. His fucking spectacular. Jesus. I made him. He's doing this for me?

I'm towing Alex, pulling on her wrist as she lags behind me. My second problem of the night. I can't leave her. Not now. It is my fault she's dead, even if I didn't rip her throat out. So far, I'm so glad to see, she's OK. Coasting along on a raft of fury, even if it is beginning to waver at the edges. As long as she remains livid, we'll cope. But that won't last forever.

Ahead is, I imagine, the dance floor. A barricade of humanity in all its drunken, sweaty massiveness. With so many soft, supple necks, and so many almost synchronised heart beats. Pulsating. Throbbing. Their sweet red life force surging through arteries and veins. I'm salivating. I imagine the warmth. The richness. The deliciousness. The way human blood stimulates as it coats my mouth and slides down my gullet. I'm almost dribbling. But... then ... other images ... Alex's torn up body, hanging from a metal screen whilst her blood collects in containers. Me clinging to a crying baby that I vowed to protect, blood drunk to incapacity, and ready to pick a fight with my friend. And Rachel Cutler … lying on her slab clothed in white... drained and spattered, whilst Cutler, Nick, sobbed at her feet.

It gives me pause. I blink away the blackness that I know has risen in my eyes and swallow hard, once and then again.

I'm here to stop a massacre, not cause one.

I have to get through the crowd. To the sound desk. Make an announcement. Get them to leave. And there's only one way to do that. I hold my breath, cringing at the jostling, jarring and chronic invasion of personal space, as I push through them, quickly, without lashing out at them. I can do this. I can do this.

It's only as I emerge at the other side, staggering weakly, that I realise that Alex is no longer with me. I let go of her hand.

I grab the microphone as the first snarls reach my ears. That's a werewolf all right. My mind flashes back 57 years. A large cage and Leo being dragged in, shredding each puny human opponent within 3 heartbeats of full transformation, spraying their blood and ragging their corpses. Arousal flares. And nausea. I'm battling for control of my mind and body. I must impose some sanity. I'm doing this for Leo. For Tom. For Annie and Eve. I must remember. Cling on to who I am. Not what I was. Breathe. Despite the heavy human scent. Focus. Control.

Behind me, up on the balcony, I hear a familiar voice. Cutler!

"Now. Do it now," he calls into some walky-talky, as I he leans over the rail, peering down at me. His smile turns my stomach.

The bastard. It's too late. Just too late. I start to plead with the crowd. I entreat them, beg them, to listen. To get out. In their last few precious moments. And... They ignore me! Am I somehow invisible?

A low growl. Penetrating. And the thump of clawed footfalls. A few screams. Then silence falls as everyone turns to face the monster. A full grown werewolf. All claws and fangs and drool and snarl. The only creature guaranteed to outfight a vampire. Without even breaking a sweat. If that really is Tom, this is the point where he crosses the line. Kills more than just vampires. Softly, softly, massacre monkey! Damn Cutler. It's inevitable. So bloody smart. So bloody insane. We really are such fucked up creatures!

The wolf stops. Just stands there. Watching the humans watching him. It's like they've all been hypnotised. I almost allow myself to hope. Leo couldn't control it but Tom, he was turned as a baby. Maybe. Just maybe. There could be a chance. The slightest sliver of awareness. And Tom would never hurt any creature with a soul. Not knowingly.

One by one, people on the dance floor start drifting back to reality. Or not reality... They're taking photos! Playing with gadgets! Don't they understand? Stare at them and blink your eyes to black, or extend your fangs, and they'll freak out and flee. But present them with a werewolf, live and in the flesh, and they blank out the enormity.

Tom hunches, letting out a roar, and finally the guests at Cutler's party cut and run, predictably enough screaming and crying as they go. I hold my breath, but Tom makes no move to follow them. He's watching me. I think the doors were jammed at first – Cutler did mention - but now they're open. Alex? Either way, they're almost all to safety now.

I glance up and see Cutler one last time, pulling back from the balcony with a look of sheer disappointment. My protégé and heir. Does he know what he's done? Revealing werewolves to the world? I doubt that I'll get chance to ask him. I can't help wondering though, when all my knowledge falls onto his shoulders as I disintegrate to dust, if he'll be prey to the same 50 year cycles as I reel through. What it will do to him? The weight of an Old One's experiences has been known to drive younger vampires insane, and he's already well along that road. What did I do to him?

No matter. I must try to get to Cutler. Lead Tom upstairs, away from the doors, to somewhere we can contain him. Hide him. When the police come looking. And I need Cutler's familiarity with this place to do that. He can't expect to just run away from the fracas. He has to listen to me.

I drag in a deep breath and steel myself. It's time to face the wolf and see if the bastard hound is going to rip my head off. If he does, I tell myself, it'll be a quicker death than the last time. The pain won't last that long. Err... Sorry...Who am I trying to kid? It'll be excruciating. And that's assuming it leads to blessed oblivion. I'm pretty sure that I have a well stocked hearth waiting for me in the pits of Hell. That all accounts and claims will be presented, demanding payment in full. Justice and fairness require appeasement. Forgiveness and mercy are not on offer for fiends such as I.

Tom is still watching me, silent and slobbering, as almost in spite of myself, I start to ease my way round the edge of the seating. Always backing away. Never breaking eye contact with the wolf... I must show no fear. Show no aggression. Move slowly. Gently. My dead heart is thumping, filling both my ears and his with its thud as it tries to break the landspeed record. My body shakes madly, like I've got late-stage Parkinson's Disease, and my legs buckle. It's all I can do to stay upright. To carry on, inch by inch. To hold that ferocious animalistic glare that bores its way through my skull, levelly and calmly as my courage sputters and snuffs out like a lit candle in a tornado.

I stumble backwards, as I reach the stairs, hearing the air whoosh from my lungs, losing the eye contact. I see the wolf bunch itself, preparing to spring, and I ram myself into the small gap by the stairwell edge, trying to fend off the monster with my arms protecting my face. I snatch a breath. Then another and another, unable to savour them as they pass, knowing that they're going to be my last. I wait. And wait. For the dog breath, the slobber and the feel of those teeth slicing through my flesh.

The wolf leaps. I freeze. Somewhere someone screams and the moment crystallises. But... the hound flies past me, brushing against me with the fur of his hind legs as I shudder.

He's gone... Upstairs. Away.

As I swallow against the cloying dryness in my mouth, and try to breathe again, the palpitations and oxygen deficiency are making my head spin. I'm still shaking. And weak. So weak. As I struggle to revive, a blur of leather jacket and turquoise-green appears in front of me. Alex! She hauls me to my feet, throwing herself at me, whilst I barely manage to stand. I turn my head away as she holds on. Ugh, awkward... I drank her blood, for pity's sake. It was for revenge on me that Cutler killed her. And she's holding me upright!

As I find my feet, I push her away, untangling her arms and admonishing her for her behaviour. She looks at me in disbelief before grinning so widely that I worry her jaw will drop off. It's infectious. I find myself smiling back as my fingers start tapping, the routines kick in and I regain a semblance of control.


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer – Just raiding the BH dressing up box. Rights remain with Toby Whithouse and the BBC. Thank you for the reviews._

**Getting away: Hal**

My strength flows back as my heartbeat slows and the trembling eases. I straighten and rub the tension out of my neck muscles before grounding myself, and taking stock. Alex is still standing in front of me, with her hand on my arm as if to steady me.

"The doors...", I croak, surprised by my hoarseness, "They were barred?"

Alex nods, her lips a thin line as she frowns, "Bloody Cutler."

She pauses. "But I got them all out. Humans. Bloody stupid humans. They've gone."

Looking around, I can see that she's right. Relief surges through me, coupled with admiration. For one so newly dead, Alex has shown incredible common sense and ingenuity. As well as bravery in the face of monsters beyond anything that she would have known. Without her, a fair number of those people would be dead, and Tom would be lost. They all owe her, and so do I. She's bought us the most precious thing possible. Time.

And Tom is nowhere in sight and I can't hear him. I only hope he doesn't find Alex's body as I fear he may give it a good chewing. And I don't know how I'd keep that from her.

So. Strategies and Tactics.

I pace as I concentrate.

Objectives:

to get Tom, Alex and I to safety without alerting or hurting any humans.

to dissociate ourselves from this evening's events and from Alex's body in the cellar.

And give Cutler a damn good talking to. Though that may have to wait. As might returning Alex's body to her family.

I turn back to Alex.

"We've got to get out of here."

She starts to laugh, but it's edged with desperation and sounds mildly crazy.

"You don't say!"

"And get Tom out," I continue.

"WHAT!"

She cuts across me, full of anger and denial. "You mean that...thing?" She hesitates. "You still think that that...monster...is your housemate?"

I take her hands, gazing into her green eyes as I search for a connection. For the slightest glow of understanding or willingness to believe me. Somehow I have to persuade her. To enlist her support. I need her. Desperately. And we must act quickly. I have to find a way to explain. To help her to understand.

"Alex, I don't think that it's Tom. I know it is. He's a werewolf. Human for 27 days out of 28, but far from it on full moon. After the transformation, there's none of the human left. No recognition, no compassion, no sense of who he is. Until dawn, when he'll change back, he will kill without hesitation. Then he'll be back to normal for another 4 weeks. Oh, and as I'm sure you've worked out by now, I'm a vampire - like Cutler - though I try hard not to be. Now I know that it's a lot to process. It will take time. But trust me. Please trust me."

She tenses, then snatches her hands from my grip, turning away. I let her.

"You're doing so well. Unbelievably so, given that your world view has just been shattered. And you held it together wonderfully, getting the humans out. But we have to catch Tom and get him out of here before the police come looking. What do you think will happen then?"

I can see that she's struggling. Still trying to cling to her human certainties, whilst crawling over the crevasse between their world and the supernatural one that she's moving into, dragging herself along the finest of lifelines. In a few short hours, she's died and discovered werewolves, vampires and ghosts. It takes most supernaturals years to uncover everything that she's having to process. She has every right to be confused. Overwhelmed. At least she hasn't dismissed me out of hand. Like Pearl would have. I try to be patient, despite my rising frustration.

After a few moments, she turns back to me.

"So, there'll be carnage. A lot more people dead."

One step at a time, I help her build on her embryonic insights and develop her awareness of what it all means. For Barry, the police and for Tom. The full horror of what Cutler set in motion. She begins to babble. Something about the police already breaking in and a gore fest. I stop her. Get her to speak slowly, coherently. And my heart floods with hope. Maybe, just maybe, we have a way out.

"A police van, unlocked, empty, you say?"

She nods.

"Alex, would you ... please ... do your rent-a-ghost thing and check it out? Specifically if it's still abandoned and, assuming so, if the keys are under the clutch pedal. And also the security of the back of it? Cutler was always one for the backup plan."

As she vanishes, I make myself busy. For the first time since Cutler shut me in that cellar, I can see a way forward. We need to get the van into the club, lure Tom into it and get the hell out of here. And, to do that, we need to work out tactics.

There's still no sign of Tom so I quickly check out the area where I know he came from. The cleaning room door is open, and hanging off its hinges, its "staff only" plate swinging down. Inside, his clothes are piled up near the door. He might need them and it saves leaving evidence. It also confirms that Cutler was telling the truth. It is Tom. I haven't seen Cutler's other cronies. I'm guessing that they've fled. I return to near the doors.

Next, I raid the fire extinguishers from their stations near the bar and by the door. Four should be enough. I line them up where they'll be easy to grab. Now for the last bit. To trap a werewolf, we need bait. And what better than vampire blood... Though it won't give me long to escape, and I'll need to mask my scent. It'll also leave me weak, and the craving will be even worse, if I survive long enough to care. I find 2 bottles of brandy – expensive, I'm impressed – behind the bar and a pint glass.

Alex returns, a whirlwind of enthusiasm. Yes, the van is secure. So it's a go. After her protests about not being able to drive, she lets me out and I take the keys and hop in the driver's seat. As I haul on the steering, and depress the accelerator, I nearly spin the vehicle. So much lighter than I was expecting. Thankfully Alex isn't here to see or I'm sure she'd give me some more abuse.

Alex opens the doors and I reverse the van into the club with my dignity intact and no harm done. We pile up chairs and tables, blocking any routes around the van, and clearing the space in front of it. I explain the plan to her and show her how the locking mechanisms work. I also tell her that this is dangerous. But not quite how dangerous. It's effectively suicide for me. And I wouldn't do it for anyone other than Tom or Annie. They took me in when I lost everything. They accepted me and gave me a home. I make sure Alex has everything that she needs to know, including my final words for Tom, on the offchance that she might need them. I have no doubt that she will. Suddenly it feels so good to be alive. The beauty of light gleaming on chrome, the taste of the air that I breathe, the sense of living in the moment.

For a few seconds, I pause, chewing over in my mind whether to ask Alex to remove my remains once it's all over. I fear Cutler attempting to bring me back, along with his goons, and they would have enough blood between them to do so. Vampire resurrection is a nasty business, with little chance of the "restored" being remotely sound in mind or body. Not to speak of the power that Cutler would then wield. But...Alex's body is in the cellar. I can't ask this of her on top of everything else. I can only hope that Annie is back and will take care of me. Or even Tom if he's functioning OK.

As I hand Alex the address, I see the tears in her eyes. She should never have had to do this. I can hear sirens in the streets outside. At least two, maybe three, vehicles. It looks like time has run out. If we're going to do this, we do it now.

Alex takes up her station behind one of the van doors and I give in. She was never going to wait in the cab. A deep breath. I roll the tension out of my shoulders and focus. First the brandy. I splash one of the bottles liberally around the floor. That should confuse the wolf a little. The second I open and take 2 gulps from. It's too good to totally waste and I need the warmth it gives. Comfort. I remember my days in the army, back at Orsha. Discipline. Clean uniform, polished shoes, scrubbed face. If I can do nothing else, I can clean my fangs. You don't face down death without clean underwear and clean teeth. There's nothing that I can do about the first one, so teeth it is. The ritual is soothing. It helps my concentration.

Here goes. Point of no return. I slit open my left wrist, collecting almost half a pint in the glass in a couple of seconds, before sealing the wound with my lips, making sure no other blood droplets escape as I suck on it. I hurl the glass into the back of the van, seeing how the blood sprays and the glass shatters. At the same moment, I hear a howl, and my body spasms. Tom races around the end of the bar, leaving me barely enough time to throw myself into the gap we'd left under the van. He's clawing at the soles of my feet. Alex yells and, for a moment, it distracts him, allowing me to pull myself up next to her at the side of the van and block the passage that I crawled through.

Alex and I stand, pressed together, in silence, barely breathing. The wolf bashes on the back door panel, where it rests against us, but it holds firm, wedged. He snuffles around for a while before one foot bangs down on the van floor. But not the other. Does he know it's a trap? Moments stretch out, slotting into line like a rift valley widening. Then a yowl and a leap and he's in the van. I hurtle towards the cage door, slamming and latching it as he leaps at me, giving back away from the raking claws as I battle to secure the lock. Alex hurls the first of the outer doors shut, distracting the wolf long enough for me to secure the cage. As I move away, she pulls the second door to and I lock it. Team work!

I look down at my body, unable to credit that I'm still in one piece. Alex looks as shaken as I feel. Tom is going berserk, hurling himself at the bars and shaking the van, growling and snarling like a pack of wolves. Outside, the sirens reach a crescendo. They're here. We're not out of it yet.

Alex opens the doors as I clear a path to the driver's seat and kick start the engine. Crawling out of the club, slow so as to keep control of the vehicle, I scrape the side panels but no real harm seems to be done. Alex closes the doors – best to keep the humans guessing – and rent-a-ghosts next to me. Driving as fast as I can, without losing control, I head out of Barry and into the country. We need somewhere defensible and deserted, and open enough not to attract any other Welsh werewolves. Instinctively I seek higher ground, a smile dancing on my face as the edge of euphoria sets in. I think we may have made it.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Disclaimer: Just playing with the toys. All rights belong to Toby Whithouse and the BBC.**_

**Ch 6. Moonlight meanderings: Hal**

We head inland a little, rounding the back of the main hill overlooking Barry. The road winds its way through open country but we should be safe from attack if there are any werewolves out here. The police van is well fortified and they tend to avoid anything which is well lit. Still, I engage the central locking in the cab just in case. The noise coming from the back has subsided, though I can hear Tom breathing deeply. I wonder if it's the motion that's calming him. I'm just glad that something is.

I should know these roads, even if it is nearly 60 years since I last travelled them. The place looks so different at night but it's slowly coming together; the dominoes lining up piece by piece. The road surface is as bumpy as I remember it. Good to know that some things don't change. Alex slumps in the passenger seat. She looks exhausted and more than a little worried. She must wonder where I am taking her.

Glancing up, I notice the CCTV monitor and thumb it on. Tom is curled up dozing, nose to tail, in the back corner of the van, with blood smearing his forehead, beyond tongue's reach. Looks like he rubbed his muzzle thoroughly in it. Like the neighbours' feline does in her catnip patch. Alex stares at the monitor for a while, before studying my wrist. The wound has gone. It's a faint scar now and that will fade before morning. She looks even more baffled.

About 40 minutes after leaving the club, we're nearing the top of the hill, the suspension being well tested by the unclassified road surface. I spot what I was hoping for. A bridleway leading off road and over the shoulder of the ridge. Killing the headlights, I turn sharp left and engage first gear. We crawl down the track for maybe a couple of miles before I find the spot I wanted. An open and defensible location, away from any signs of civilisation, camping sites or car parks. Not enough cover to be attractive to a werewolf, and too far away from the settlements for a newly turned one to find their way up here by accident. There's a good view over Barry and any traffic noise should carry on the air long before any vehicle could find us.

I park up, pocketing the keys, and stretch. My routine is completely out of kilter and my muscles are reminding me that they need to be worked. A short stroll is in order. I want to check out the nearby copse. I don't expect any danger but it is full moon and you don't get to be an Old One without knowing when to take risks and when to check the belt and braces. I turn to Alex, intending to ask her to keep watch while I have a comfort break, but she's miles away. Watching the CCTV screen, and Tom sleeping, with a completely vacant expression and sadness in her eyes. It looks like realisation is beginning to bite. I wish I could lessen her distress but losing her human life, her family and friends, her plans and future, and her body - that's a major bereavement. With grief, the only way out is through, and she'll have to do that in her own way and her own time. She really needs to sleep, so that her brain can start to process and re-wire. But, in my limited experience, that doesn't come easily for most ghosts.

I saunter to the trees, senses on full alert, glad to be active. No obvious danger. It's been a long time since I spent a night in the country under the stars. Not to mention a full moon, though cloud banks are keeping the moonlight levels down, and the sodium lamps in Barry wash out many of the otherwise visible stars. The night air is still and cool and I shiver slightly. I need to clear my head. Too many thoughts clamour inside my skull, threatening to split my head open. Alex. Cutler. Rachel. The Old Ones. But cutting through everything is the craving. Two glasses of blood is two too many and I'm not even blood tipsy this time. Rapid habituation. Not a good sign. And the need is getting stronger. I focus, head pressed against the back of my hands as I push my palms into the bark of the nearest tree, fingers clawing into the cracks and fissures. I must get through this. Alex needs me. As does Tom. Especially tonight. This is my watch.

I locate a streamlet which bubbles from under a rock and wash my hands and face. The cold water shocks and invigorates. Drying my hands on a spare handkerchief, I make my way back to the van. It's almost 1am. About 5 hours until dawn.

_I have taken some liberties with the road layout and landscape around Barry as I haven't researched it. My apologies to anyone who knows the area well._


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer: as for the previous chapters_

**Ch 7. The joys of local radio: Nick Cutler**

**90 minutes earlier**

Well... What can I say...

My spectacular.

Not quite as planned. A distressing absence of blood and guts on the dancefloor. But, hey. The world has discovered werewolves now. A solid base. I can build on that. I will see this through. Be a history maker. This is my calling. What it's all been for. And the Old Ones will take notice. Shame they're not already here.

And Hal... So sad. How pathetic and weak he is. And stopping a bloodbath... That has to be a first. He was famed for whole building massacres. His speciality. You know, for a moment, when he pushed into the crowd, I saw his shoulders straighten and I was sure he was off. It wouldn't have mattered. Fang marks are fang marks and we don't show up on cameras. I might even have joined him, for old time's sake. Clearly, he's gone soft in the head. Age must be rotting his brain. I wonder if they're all half senile. Someone should stake him. It would be a kindness.

Tapping away on my phone, I monitor the websites. Trending on twitter – yeah – and on facebook? All in 10 minutes or so. Spanning the globe. I throw a couple more photos into the mix courtesy of lycurious. Social media. Isn't it wonderful. There's no way back. No covering up our loony brethren now. Humans... Move 12 good men and true and justice can ratify anything. No matter how bizarre. And, at heart, humanity is all the same. A dressed up lizard brain responding to danger like the smallest rodent, with layers of convenient post-rationalisation as the icing over the top. Helping them to believe the lie. That it couldn't happen. Not to them. That they're masters of their own little worlds. How twee. I'll find a way to keep nudging them. After all, I am very good at my job. And I will have my statue in Hyde Park.

Outside the wolf roars, clawing at the door. Looks like he's found me. Much good as that'll do him. This office can withstand a bomb blast, and there are 3 doors between him and me. And a secret room and backstairs exit behind the bank of CCTV monitors. Some of them are even recording. I can wait it out here until full moon is over. Even if the police come, they won't find me, and they might give the wolf some sport. Or free it even. That would be fun. Shame Fergus is no longer around. For once he might have been useful.

More websites. Pity it hasn't hit the news yet. Local or national or the world service. It's already time zero plus thirty minutes. I tune into local radio, the headphone pressed into one ear, as I listen to the wolf and his rising frustration, and keep surfing. Unfortunately I can't access the police channels from here. A small oversight. Ahhh. A blog. Oh yeah. This is interesting. And the twitterati are doing me proud. It's going to be a good night.

I spin round in my chair, toasting the air with my glass of blood. Time to make plans.


	8. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer: as for the previous chapters_

**Ch 8. The darkest hours are just before dawn: Hal**

I return to the van. Alex is still motionless, her face bathed with the grey light of the CCTV screen. I speak to her but it's clear she's not feeling chatty. Searching the van, I discover a few things that may be of use. A couple of old sheets and blankets – clean, I'm surprised to note – in a compartment beneath the mat in the driver's side footwell and some bottles of water in the overhead locker. Along with a bottle of what may once have been blood. Separated into black tar, a riot of green mould and a layer of cloudy fluid. Uggh. Yuck!

Time to get some exercise. Something to still my mind but still allow me to focus on my surroundings. Yoga sounds like the best idea. I lay one of the sheets on the ground, out of Alex's line of vision but near enough to hear if she needs me, and remove my shoes and socks. For the next hour, I give myself over to my practice. The bloodlust is carousing through my veins but, so far, I can hold it. Hold onto routine. Hold onto Leo in my memories. Imagine him watching over me.

I check on Alex, who is still trying and failing to sleep. Tom appears to have no such difficulty. The wolf is yipping in his sleep, his paws scrabbling as he dreams. I hope that they're pleasanter than the kind of dreams that I have. I could return to my seat but I can't help either of them, and Alex's pain is grating on my conscience. If only I hadn't rung her. Hadn't taken her on that date. Also, I hate to notice, but a small part of me is enjoying it. The power that I have over both of them. It belongs to the darkness that replaced my soul. And the darkness is rising.

I wander off again, hoping to work through my own thoughts. The need for blood is becoming too much. Alex's blood flares in my mind, tantalising my nose and tastebuds. I must hit the over-ride switch. Inhale. Count. Exhale. Count. Inhale... Over and over. And I know what this is. What happens if I don't get what I need. The prelude to another bout of withdrawal, like last night. Not just the aching fever and the spasming but all the ghosts. Tangible. Accusing. And I know who will be my tormentor tonight. Rachel Cutler. What I did to her. What I did to Nick. I collapse in a heap, turning inwards and curling up as the first wave hits me. At least I'm far enough away that neither Tom nor Alex should hear my whimpers. I need to keep some dignity, for pity's sake.

At last, the pain and the terror eases and I sit up, clasping my knees, using the contact to ground myself. Get my strength back. The sky is lightening. Maybe an hour or so till dawn. I swing back to the van, pleased to see that Alex and the wolf are both asleep. The reverse transformation is underway, though it's still more wolf than Tom. I return to my seat and watch the dawn as it creeps up on Barry. Cutler's words echo in my head, _'We can watch dawn break over the new world together_'. What the fuck am I going to do with him? I made him into a monster. I did this. I imagine him somewhere down there, keeping vigil by himself, whilst I watch with a sleeping ghost and a comatose werewolf. He must hate me.


	9. Chapter 9

_For disclaimer, please see Ch 1._

**Ch 9. Watching dawn break over the new world**

**Nick Cutler, 5.15am**

Coming to with a start, I realise that I'd fallen asleep. The room is bright with the CCTV monitors and I can see that there's no-one in the club, though police cars guard the main entrance and the goods-in area. My head thuds. My suit jacket is creased from where I had my head resting on my arm on the desk. And reflexively, I find myself rubbing my neck. At the 2 little puncture marks that I assume lie over my left carotid where Hal drained me. Such a small scar for the devastation he wrought on me. Why does it all heal except the point of insertion?

Hal... Not proper dead then...

And he wrecked it. My spectacular. Pushes his way back in – after 55 years -and sod my plans... Like I matter. Like I asked him to come here. I'd planned it all so carefully. Invited guests. Children of the influential and noticed. And none of them died. Just that girl of Hal's and she didn't even have a proper phone, just a relic that bad it could be from the 90s. And no ipod or other essentials. She hardly counts. It'll all get hushed up and no-one will remember what I set loose last night.

I'm on my feet. Pacing as my mind hamster wheels.

He was always a cruel bastard, Hal. I know that. Much as I was bonded to him as my maker and protector. But this is something different even for him. "Remember who you were?" How dare he! How could he... say that to me, of all people, after everything.

Who was I? A young man with my life ahead of me, a good job, and a beautiful wife who kept our home and loved me. Till Hal Yorke decided my destiny... Not like I was even consulted. I recall the day I first met him. 20th March – or was it May – 1950. Immaculately dressed and claiming to be charged with illegal gambling. Dogfights. His minions took me to him in cell 2 in the basement of Reading police station. Conveniently tiled. And remote. He was well prepared.

I hear the inrush of air as I wince. Some things you can never forget. And everything he did to me, he did to Rachel too. Except for feeding her his blood at the end. The last thing she'd have seen were those hazel eyes, far too close, just before they turned to night. She'd have been so scared. Just as I was. And then things would have got worse, till her door arrived. That's the last link I have with her. We were both consumed – killed - by Hal Yorke. And now, I can no longer even remember her clearly. The sound of her voice. Her laughter. They've faded. Replaced with so many other memories. My ghosts. My kills. The ones I watched die. But I didn't ask for this. Not like him.

Mmm. This isn't helping.

I seat myself on the desk, retrieving my wedding ring from the back of my wallet and closing my fist around it. Gripping it with all I have. I swear I will remember.

I will survive. With or without him. I am not his plaything. I am a history maker. He will not deny me that.

I coped before – when he abandoned me amongst those savages – Fergus and Louie and Dennis. They are all proper dead – unlike me – for all they revelled in killing and I don't. And it's not like he matters now. I mean. 55 years off the blood. That's unthinkable. I'm all for creating a new context but what the hell does he think vampires are? We're addicts. Murderers. We can't deny our nature. I control my addiction, ration my intake, but any less is impossible. Hallucinations. Night terrors. The screaming need. The madness. It's all there at the edges.

He really must be a hard, cold bastard if he did go all the way through that. Did it not touch him? Or does he have incredible willpower. No. More of us would have stopped if that were just the case. Maybe it's an Old One thing. Like crosses. They get immune. Lucky bastards.

I'll say this for Hal. He knows no boundaries.

I glance at my watch. Quarter to six. The werewolves are no threat now. They'll be comatose as the creeping dawn kicks off the healing and change back. Time for some fresh air. And for a hot bath and a change of clothes. Before the damn church bells start peeling for Sunday services and I'm back on the rota as duty solicitor for today. I'll call by Stokers first. Pick up some supplies. And if Hal wants to find me...

I wonder where he went.

I trigger the secret door and head down the stairs and out into the basement and the side exit. I pause, checking for human heartbeats on the other side of the door. None. Slipping through, I turn round the back and head off for Stokers, startling a dog fox rifling through the bins. The sun is rising. Soon the birds will start their chorus. I remember Hal in the basement as I told him we could watch dawn break over the new world together. I would forgive him for everything. For abandoning me, breaking bread with a human and being radio silent for 55 years. And what did he do? He fell to his knees and begged. For them. Not me. For humanity. And werewolves. What was it? Oh yeah. _'I will not let you take their world. We don't deserve it._' Gross. Maybe he really is beyond saving.

Strolling past the docks, I reach the front of the warehouse. Funny. The door is ajar. Not more "pilgrims" here for the Old Ones, I hope. They'd better show some more respect than that Golda and her "gym bunny" did or I may need to call on Tom's services again. He might not be pleased with me but I'm sure I can talk him round. He is so gloriously eager to please people and so prejudiced against most vampires. He's a delight.


	10. Chapter 10

_Disclaimer: please see previous chapters_

**Ch 10. A new day: Hal**

Five past six and the sun is well on its way. It looks like being a fine day, with the cloud cover breaking up and a light breeze coming from the sea. Tom is largely human, though I wouldn't wake him yet in case the internal changes aren't complete. Still he should be safe now.

As I reach across for Tom's clothes, Alex stirs, eyeing me blearily.

"Err... what you doin'?"

She stares at Tom's form on the monitor. I can understand that it's a shock to see him human again but he is naked. And she really shouldn't be looking. It's... unbecoming. Unladylike... And I'm sure it'd freak him out too. I try to be charitable and tell myself that she's not fully awake yet. And to ignore the stab of jealousy. What. That's it's not my body she's... Don't be absurd.

Riffling though Tom's clothes, I identify and remove all the stakes. He's not going to be happy to find out about Alex and her condition. And I'd rather he didn't attack me by default, assuming it was me. Especially if she tells him how I drank her blood. I don't know how addled he'll be when he comes round. He's not going to know where he is or how he got here. I have to arrange things so that he isn't trapped but he doesn't bolt either.

I go to the back of the van and unlock the doors, letting the morning light stream into the cage. Tom doesn't stir. Then I unlock the cage, leaving the gate slightly ajar, and place his clothes just inside, in a neat pile. Alex comes bounding to join me, wittering about floating clothes and cameras. Looks like the sleep was what she needed and she's wide awake and lively now. But I feel the need to protect Tom's modesty somehow, and I take off my coat, laying it over him. It should keep him warm and it should also help him figure things out when he starts coming round. At least that he's not on his own.

Now that Alex is in a better frame of mind, she's quite easy to talk to. She's full of questions about supernaturals and particularly werewolves. As we lean against the van side, I start to fill her in. Answer her questions. It's the least that I can do after last night. And I have a feeling that she'll be spending some time with Tom, Annie, Eve and I, at least until her door comes. It'll be good for her. Help her to adapt.

A groan and a thud emanate from the back of the van. Quarter to seven. Looks like Tom's awake. I put my head round the door and say hello, being roundly sworn at for my pains. Most un-Tom-like. Still, he knows he's not alone now. And he can get dressed. I give him a few moments before joining him in the back, carefully ignoring the excrement, and asking the question that's been bothering me all night.

"Tom, where's Eve. Is she safe?"

He looks at me like I'm an alien, not a vampire.

"Yeah, why wouldn't she be?"

I 'm relieved. I felt sure he'd have left her with someone if Annie wasn't back, but, from his lack of concern, I'm assuming that she is.

"So," I begin. "Do you remember anything at all about last night?"

He shakes his head, looking confused. And bit by bit, shards of memories start to return to him. I've never seen him look so horrified.

I fill him in on how we got here and what happened with Alex, and he's beginning to boil. I've rarely seen Tom get angry. Irritated, yes. Furious, no. But we need to focus. The main thing now is getting back to Barry, abandoning the police van here as it's too conspicuous. Oh, he needs to clean up. The stench of wolf is almost unbearable. I direct him to the stream that I saw earlier and return to Alex. The smell clings to my coat but it is chilly and I am fairly immune to wolf after 55 years with Leo and now Tom. I tell myself that I can shower later as I pull it on. I cling onto that as my flesh crawls in response and I lean on the front bumper, breathing the cleaner air.

When Tom returns, Alex and I are talking, but I can see that she's a bit freaked out. Her first werewolf. A lot to process. But the one thing that both she and Tom agree on is that they're going to get Cutler. I can't say that I'm happy about this, but if they are, I'm going with them. I could do with something of him left for a heart to heart discussion afterwards. And he may be more receptive. I'm going to keep hold of the stakes though. Just in case. I know how rash Tom can be. And I don't actually want Cutler killed off.

By 8am, we're coming into Barry, heading for Stokers. We'll start the search for Cutler there. If we don't find him we can always try his office. Let's hope that the Old Ones haven't arrived yet. All being well, it'll only be a couple of them. Mr Snow hasn't left Bolivia in centuries and the rest may not be as much of a threat as I fear. If we work together, we can handle them. If we can't then we can always hide. Flee. Either way, we will survive.


End file.
